The Fetishist Who Went to Hell

His first sensation was one of motion, of floating forward through no power or will of his own. Hot, humid air assaulted his face and chest and privates, which he suddenly realized seemed to be totally naked. The air was so moist and burning he could barely breathe.

He noted that his body's lighter than air movement was not quite smooth, but rather jerky, as he seemed to be jostled not only from side to side, but also up and down several inches in an almost soothing rhythm . An annoying painful pressure made itself known beneath his upper arms, which were out to his sides, his forearms and hands dangling down and flopping uselessly. The pain at his upper arms felt as though they had somehow become entrapped in jawed vises. As he floated along, his feet occasionally bounced off objects of varying sizes, objects which were hot enough to elicit repeated exclamations of "Ouch, ouch, ouch!" from his parched lips as the fog in his brain lifted and his sense of touch returned.

Last to return was his eyesight, which burst into being in a flash of white hot light. Initially, he was worried at his hazy eyesight, but then realized that the miragelike appearance of the objects around him was due to the shimmering rays of heat which were rising from the ground, distorting everything.

His head lolled first to his left, and then to his right. He wished it hadn't. For two more foul creatures he could not have imagined or created in his most vivid nightmares. Each of his arms was held in the tight, clawed grip of a beast born and weaned in... (oh shit)... Hell. He panicked and screamed, kicking and flailing, unsure if he was dreaming or if he'd gone mad. But his huge, disgusting captors only laughed - they like it when you struggle. They love the sound of screams.

His burly captors continued to haul him airborne over the hot, rough terrain for what seemed hours. He was just too damned frightened - and repulsed - to look at them again, so he concentrated on trying to see through the steaming haze ahead. Unfortunately, what he saw there wasn't much prettier.

Finally the dragging stopped. He dangled there between his two grotesque bookends doing his best to focus on anything but them. They had stopped short, then stood there holding him like a rag doll, silently waiting for something. From off to his left, yet another monstrous being entered his immediate vicinity, this one holding a clipboard in its hand, mumbling to itself, checking off something on the top page and snorting as it chuckled a most disturbing chuckle.

Then from straight ahead of him, the head honcho appeared through the shimmering haze, almost as if he'd simply materialized from nothingness. He strode up to the trio on cloven hooves, a twitchy tail darting about excitedly behind him. It was quickly apparent who this newest vile creature was - the horns, the hooves, the tail, the perpetual sunburn.

His newest acquaintance was none other than Old Scratch himself, the inventor of deceit, the raper of souls, the one and only Satan. The evil one grinned with pleasure and amusement. "What have we here, gentlemen, a new guest?"

"Yes, Your Foulness," the clipboard carrier said, "our newest. Fresh off the slab. Soul # 92358106, one Arthur Grant, recently deceased, and here to eternally pay for his sins. Here is the paperwork, Oh King of Nastiness." The fawning creature seemed almost proud as it removed the top sheet of paper from the clipboard and handed it over to Satan.

"Yes, yes," the evil, horned face leered, "Let's see what we've got this time." He took the sheet of paper and scanned it with glowing yellow eyes. "Hmmm.... yes... oh, my." The devil began to chuckle.

"Well, now, you don't see this very often, do you, Gash?"

The beast with the clipboard chuckled as well, "No, Your Wickedness, this is indeed an odd one," he replied, still snorting his amusement.

"Precious, Backdoor," he addressed the arm-clutching monstrosities, "Have you read this? Have you read about our new guest here?"

They both joined in the laughter. "Yes,boss," the one on the right replied, "Amusing, isn't it?"

"Absolutely," Satan agreed, "I'd say it's damn rare to see a gay terrorist. You'd think our friend Mr. Grant here would be too busy picking out apartment color schemes or helping straight friends with their wardrobes to have time to blow people up, wouldn't you? And it must be downright difficult to plant a bomb in high heeled wedges, wouldn't you think?"

Laughter all around. Satan continued, "I'd say we should come up with something quite clever and imaginative for Mr. Grant here. Since he's gay, he'll of course have to serve out his sentence among our female tenants - wouldn't want him to try to pork any of the male damned, now would we? Now, let me see, what delightful torments can we devise for our bomb-building friend here?"

"Artie, m'boy," the loathsome beast holding his right arm said, "Good luck. Looks like the boss is really working on something special for you. That's not a good thing. Your time here is really gonna suck... but, then, this IS Hell, ain't it?" Both he and his two compatriots laughed.

Satan walked through the haze to what appeared to be a desk (was it even there before?). On it sat a row of the most modern and up to date computers and all the high tech gear and accessories anyone could ever want or need. The evil one sat at one of these and began typing. He chuckled wickedly as his taloned fingers flew across the keys with blinding speed.

At length he sat back, eyeing the computer screen with satisfaction. Sitting back, Satan clapped his hands together and laughed, obviously tickled with whatever he saw on the screen. With his index finger's long, curved, yellowed nail he first stabbed the "enter" key and then the "print" key, smirking the entire time.

The printer beside the computer whirred and dinged and out popped a sheet of paper. Satan whisked the sheet from the printer's bin and read it over, snickering. He then rose and brought the sheet over to Gash, who took it from him and read it. He, too, snickered. Gash showed it to Precious and Backdoor. They also snickered.

"Oh, Mr. Grant, please, don't you think I've heard all this nonsense before? Don't you think I've had the pleasure of watching all those great big crocodile tears falling when damned souls realize they fucked up and now have to spend eternity suffering for their sins? Why, I've heard every lie and excuse there is, Mr. Grant. If I had even a penny for every soul who's tried to talk his way out of damnation, I'd be retired and living in a much cooler place, don't you think? And if that's not enough to convince you I've heard it all, Mr. Grant, who do you think it was who CREATED lying in the first place?"

"But, sir, if you'll just check... "

Satan stabbed an impatient index finger forward into Arthur's pleading face until it made contact with his lips, squashing them both firmly against Arthur's teeth with finality.

"Mr. Grant," he said, his yellow eyes smoldering, "I have millions of other guests to attend to. I do not have time to listen to your begging - though I do so love the sound of begging. So, suck it up and grow a pair. You've sinned and now it's time to pay the piper. So if you speak again I shall be forced to tear off your lips and have Backdoor here rather indelicately shove them up your ass. Am I speaking clearly enough for you, my good man?"

Arthur said nothing. The mental vision of his lips snuggled up intimately against one of his hemorrhoids made him see the wisdom of silence. Instead, he hoped that maybe once he'd left Satan's presence he could convince Backdoor, Precious or Gash of his innocence and they would in turn plead his case with the devil. Mistake or no mistake, he would have all eternity to get it rectified.

"Now, then," Satan continued, "Gash, if you wouldn't mind setting up Mr. Grant's torments? See to it they begin immediately. Precious... Backdoor... please see to it that Mr. Grant is transported immediately to the women's section so he doesn't have any pretty male tushies to get excited over, won't you? There's a nice couple of demons. Off with you now. Take him to Sector Fourteen, if you please. Gash, I can trust you to make all those arrangements for our new friend?"

"Yes, Your Malevolence, at once."

"Excellent. Let's make Mr. Grant comfortable in his new home." With that, Satan disappeared in a puff of foul-smelling black smoke. Apparently he preferred his exits more dramatic than his entrances.

Backdoor nodded, and Gash covered his mouth as he laughed into it. Precious leaned toward Arthur and said, "Holy fuck with gravy on it. Man, you're in for some rough shit."

"Damn," Backdoor agreed, "The boss wants to hand this poor fuck over to Daisy and Butterfly? On his first day here? No warmup period for him to get used to the way those two operate? Oh, this poor dude is in for a world of suffering."

"Hey, numbnuts... this is Hell. What do you expect?" Precious reminded him.

"Yeah, but Daisy and Butterfly on day one? That's harsh, even for the boss."

"Yeah, well let's get bomb boy here over to Sector Fourteen and the ball busters before the boss thinks we're slacking off."

"Yes, gentlemen," Gash offered, "The sooner we dump off this poor bastard the sooner we can get to the club and hump some of those new damned CEO's that came in last week. I'm really hot to do someone in a suit."

"Sounds good to me," Backdoor replied.

"Me, too," agreed Precious. Then, leaning to Arthur he added, "Listen, man, I kinda like you, so I'm gonna give you some advice. Daisy and Butterfly would just as soon cook up your testicles in marinara with some noodles as look at you. So, my word to the wise is this - just do as you're told and don't talk back.

Okay? It's gonna be bad enough for ya without pissing off those two butch bitches."

"Yeah," Backdoor added, "Just hang in there... it's only eternity."

"You're too much, man," Precious laughed, "Too, too much." It seemed as though Precious, Backdoor and Gash took turns laughing as they escorted the pitiful Arthur to his eternal fate.

As the two snickering demons held their charge before Hell's north elevator, Gash was on his Hell Cell, contacting Sector Fourteen, waiting for either Daisy or Butterfly to answer, to begin scheduling the afterlife Satan had planned for Arthur. His bare feet still dragging, the disheartened prisoner could keep silent about something no longer.

At the risk of an anal lip-stuffing, Arthur asked Precious, "Uh, seriously, how did all you huge dudes get names like Precious, Backdoor and Gash? Kinda sissy names for big, bad demons, isn't it?" As soon as the words left his lips, Arthur cringed, waiting for large, hairy knuckles to rearrange his face.

Backdoor fixed a glare on Arthur that instantly had him contemplating how his face would feel without lips. "Look, wise ass," Backdoor snarled, "What's it to ya? A name's a name. You writin' a book, bomb boy?"

Precious intervened. "Hey, c'mon, Back, this poor schmuck's gonna suffer a lot more than us in the next gazillion years. Let's cut 'im some slack." Turning back to Arthur, he explained, "The boss has quite the sense of humor. He likes to give us all names he says will keep us humble before him, and yet piss us off so much we'll enjoy humiliating damned souls that much more. He sees it as motivation. So, if you must know - and if you ever repeat a single one of these names, I'll personally pound yer face inta pulp - my full name is Precious Panties, my cohort here is Backdoor Barbie and your hardworking record-keeper over there is Gash Larue. The lovely 'ladies' we're delivering you to are Daisy Drydick and Butterfly Buns... and they're two of the toughest broads anywhere below the seventh level."

Precious and Backdoor nodded to one another. Their grins were hideous as they looked knwoingly at one another.

"Now," Precious continued, "If you snicker even once... let the pounding begin. And as much damage as I or Backdoor might do to you for laughing?... what Daisy or Butterfly would do to you would make a beating from either of us look like a health club massage. In fact, the only words I'd advise you to ever say around Daisy or Butterfly would be 'yes, ma'am', or maybe offer to lick their pussies real fast if they look like they're gonna clock you or if they pull out onea those whips they love so much."

"Nah," Backdoor pointed out, "Don't bother - they eat each other's pussies. Have for centuries. They're kinda exclusive when it comes to their crotch grazing."

"Oh, yeah," Precious agreed, "I forgot they sneak off and do that. If the boss ever found out... "

"Yeah, but nobody's got the balls to tell him," said Backdoor. "I don't, do you?"

"Hell, no," Precious admitted, "Those bitches would take extra special pleasure in getting revenge. Those are two psycho broads - even for Hell!"

The elevator doors hissed open and Arthur was dragged inside. Gash walked in last, finally chatting with Butterfly on his cell, confirming preparations, nodding and making checkmarks on his clipboard. The voice on the other end was loud enough that everyone in the elevator could hear just how unhappy Butterfly was. As Gash read off Satan's instructions to her, she bellowed at each and every one of them, her snarls so loud that Gash had to hold the phone away from his ear and wait for the tirade to end.

By the time they had reached the third level and the elevator doors hissed open again, a clearly shaken Gash had completed his call and was staring with wide eyes into space, his mind contemplating something Butterfly had said.

"Do you know what that bitch said to me?" Gash asked to no one in particular. Arthur and the two other demons just looked at each other. That must've been the one and only line spoken by Butterfly during that conversation that half of Hell hadn't heard.

"Butterfly said that if I wasn't such a fucking wuss when it comes to the boss, that she and Daisy would've already fried up my dick in wine sauce, ground it up extra fine and then they'd sprinkle it over every garden salad they eat for the next century. The only thing stopping them is that I don't have a dick. And all because I interrupted her and Daisy in mid muff dive. For Satan's sake, those bitches scare me."

"You wearin' yer cup?" Backdoor asked.

"Uh, yes... why?"

"Good. No sense makin' it easy for them." Everyone laughed, including Arthur, though Gash's was a bit more subdued than the others'.

The troupe exited the elevator and headed west, passing sector after sector until they reached Sector Fourteen. As they approached the entrance gateway, Gash cringed, grasping his crotch with his free hand. There stood Butterfly and Daisy, who didn't look all that much different from Backdoor and Precious. In a wrestling match, Arthur would've had trouble telling any of them apart. He guessed all demons came from some sort of demon mold, maybe even with interchangeable genitalia, because they certainly all had the same features.

Looking more closely, Arthur noticed that his two guards did have slightly more prominent crotches, and the two 'ladies' were a little, but not much, bustier. Other than that, male and female demons were pretty much carbon copies of each other. Smelled the same, too.

Marching up to the two female demons with their captive, Backdoor and Precious stood before them and held out Arthur to hand him over. Sneering at the little man, Butterfly asked "This the twit Daisy and I gave up our orgasms for?"

Precious, Backdoor and Gash all nodded, saying nothing. Then Gash slipped Satan's punishment regimen printout off of his clipboard and handed it to Daisy - pointedly not looking at Butterfly as he did so. Immediately after handing over the paper, Gash rushed to once again cover his genitals. Only then did he dare to make eye contact with Butterfly. She grinned.

"He's all yours now, ladies," Precious stated, continuing on with the words he'd said a million times. The two demons dropped Arthur to the ground like a sack of rocks.

"We'll be back in a year to pick him up - or, what's left of him - and take him back to Satan for his annual damnation evaluation. You know the rules. Satan expects all punishments to be fully meted out by then, so that Mr. Grant here can be scheduled for his next year of suffering. And we're all graded on how much this little maggot suffers so do a good job and you'll get brownie points, just like us. Fuck up and make the boss unhappy and, well.... we could all end up in the latrines on level one. I, for one, don't wanna smell shit for all eternity, so make sure this guy squirms. No offense, Artie."

"No... no, none taken," Arthur replied, quaking with fear.

"Adios, Artie," Backdoor waved, as he hurried away. "Yo, Precious, it's Miller time! Let's go hook up with some CEO poonie. C'mon, Gash, you can score some, too. CEO's like geek pencil-pushers, so you should be in like Flint. C'mon, get your wienie dipped. Let's go. Head 'em out!"

Precious and Backdoor turned away and headed back toward the elevator. Gash followed, still holding his crotch, looking behind himself nervously over and over again until he was what he felt was a safe distance away from Daisy and Butterfly.

The two female demons eyed Arthur angrily, still lamenting the orgasms that weren't, blaming Arthur for it. Daisy looked at Satan's schedule of tortures for Arthur and laughed. "Wow, the boss must be pissed at this poor idiot. Look at this, Butt."

Butterfly took the sheet and snickered along with her buddy. "I was wondering why this little turd was delivered to the women's section. Gash never mentioned the little prick is gay. No wonder he's got so many things lined up with the ladies.

Having just gotten up off the ground, dusting off his naked body, Arthur's ears perked up when he heard "lined up with the ladies." Hell or no hell, that couldn't ALL be bad, could it? Unless the ladies looked like Daisy and Butterfly, that is.

"Okay, ass-breath," Butterfly said to Arthur, grabbing him by his dick and pulling him through the gates, "Let's get you on your way through gay Hell 101, shall we?" The demoness hurried through the haze and stink of Hell with long strides, hoping to get Arthur started on his year long first round of penance as quickly as possible, so that she and Daisy could get back to the delightful diversion of searching for treasure with their tongues.

"The club is first on the list," Butterfly said to Daisy. "Seems like the boss wants this sack of sissy semen softened up a little before he gets him involved in the hard stuff."

"For how long?" Daisy asked.

"Let's see... exposed to the knees... face up... um... looks like forty-eight hours straight. Yup, just enough to soften the little prick up before he goes to the footwear room." Butterfly looked at Arthur and asked, "Are you used to being walked all over, dickhead? Well, if not, a little trample action'll soften you up real nice for starters. So, let's go. Time for you to see the trendiest bar in Hell, though you'll be doing it from the floor up. Still, maybe if your eyes aren't gouged out you'll get some nice upskirt shots to remember fondly down the road." With that, she punched him in the face.